


Three O'Clock in the Morning

by lyricalsoul



Series: Mycroft's In Love [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 80's rock, Bad Sex, Blues, Flashback, Greg as Elvis, M/M, Mycroft tells all, Why Does Mycroft Know That??, glasses fetish, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is recovering from his injuries in Mycroft's guest bedroom. He can't sleep. BB King isn't helping. </p><p>Mycroft tells the story of Colin the Rugby Chappie (mentioned by Sherlock in the previous bit). It is not pretty, but it does explain a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three O'Clock in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for the Mycroft/Colin backstory, so here it is. 
> 
> The song Gregory sings is Three O'clock Blues by BB King. There is also a line from a Michael Bolton song in here, and yes, Elvis. I am Lyrical Soul, after all. The clue is in the name, lol.

_“Now, here it is three o’clock in the morning, and I can’t even close my eyes… Lord, three o’clock in the morning, and I can’t even close my eyes...”_

Bugger. Singing the blues in the middle of the night is a bad sign.

I guess it’s a sign that I should stop pretending that it’s not getting to me, that I can just will it away by lying here, ignoring it.

Two knife wounds, ten stitches. One mild concussion and a bruised rib or two. Convalescing in Mycroft’s spare bedroom, pumped full of antibiotics and muscle relaxers, being spoiled to death by Mrs. Landingham. She took one look at me, declared I looked like a hungry raccoon, and proceeded to stuff me full of all sorts of goodies, strudel included.

Today, I was treated to a sponge bath, complete with some type of sugary scrub, hair washing and trimming (too short – I look like a recruit), a hot foam shave, followed by a full-body deep tissue massage that hit all my sore spots and deftly avoided my injuries.

Everything a convalescing bloke could want.

Except one thing.

Mycroft.

I haven’t seen him since he brought me here and supervised Dr. Sanjay’s stitching of my wounds.

It’s amazing how easy it is to be angry at someone when you don’t see them. Harder to do when you know they’re just a few doors down. Harder not to fantasize about what Mycroft and I used to get up to in this house when everything in here reminds me. And the stitches are keeping me from the cold shower I need so desperately.

I know it’s too soon. I’m still a bit out of sorts about us, about the hidden truths between us, but I said we’d work on them, and I meant it, because when all is said and done, I do really, really love him. Him struggling with being in love… It’s a little silly, if you ask me – you either love somebody or you don’t, but he wouldn’t be a Holmes if he did things the easy way. Then I guess I don’t either, since I’m in love with a Holmes. Either way, me being here in his house without him near me is torture.

_“Well, I can’t find my baby… and I can’t be satisfied…”_

To hell with this. B.B. King may not have had the strength to find his baby, but I know exactly where mine is, and I’m going to get him.

I ease myself to a sitting position, swing my legs out of bed, and stuff my feet into the slippers at the bedside. Biting back a groan as I rise to a standing position, I pull on the dressing gown at the end of the bed, and head for Mycroft’s bedroom.

I push the door open, and there he is in striped pyjamas, sitting in the middle of the bed, long legs folded like a pretzel, with a file folder in his lap, books and papers scattered across the bed. I do a double take at the barely visible glasses perched on his lovely nose. He takes them off quickly, and frowns at me. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Yeah, well… I got bored.”

“And decided to come to my room and what? Smother me with a pillow?”

“Oh, like that would work with Mrs. Landingham here. She’d have me hog-tied in the blink of an eye.  And just why would I do that…unless you’ve developed a kinky side during our… hiatus?”

“Hiatus?” He gives me his patented smirk. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Well, the break-up of 2012 is a bit long, so hiatus it is.”

“Fine. And no, I have no new kinks that involve smothering. I am aware that you are still angry with me, despite recent declarations.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to kill you. Well, not anymore.” I pause. “Well, okay, not tonight. But don’t test me.”

“I will endeavor not to do so, as I am not dressed for dying.” He folds his arms across his chest and gives me the Holmes once over. “The massage seems to have done you well, though I will need to speak with Sophie about your haircut. Well, unless you advised her to give you a military cut…?”

“I was mostly asleep when all this was done,” I shrug. “Don’t kill her.”

“Most amusing.” His tone suggests that I am anything but. “If you’re not here to kill me, why are you here?”

“B.B. King wasn’t helping, and I…"

Both brows rise, and his lips twist into a skeptical scowl.

“Well, it made sense when I left the spare bedroom, but now, standing here under the force of your death glare, it sounds silly.”

He immediately softens, and drops his arms. “What it is? Are you in pain?”

“No. Just… I, ah… Can’t sleep. Needed to be near you.” In for a penny… I toss the dressing gown on the settee at the foot of his bed, kick off the slippers, and slide in beside him, pushing folders and papers out of the way.

“Gregory…” Before I can say anything, he’s out of the bed, standing near the headboard like I’ve got the Ebola virus or something. “No. Go back to the guest room. Please. We can talk in the morning.”

“I’m not going to attack you. I’ve missed you so fucking much, and all I want is to be next to you for a little while. Please, Mycroft…I’ve missed you, missed your touch, those hands in my hair… I can’t take it, being here without you next to me…”

“Absolutely not.” He gathers up his throw, and a few of the folders that are scattered about the bed. “You sleep here. I’ll be in the guest room.”

“Mycroft…” I duck my head and look up at him through my lashes. It usually works. On Sherlock, too, when I try hard enough. “Please.”

“You’re being unfair now, taking advantage of my affection for you. You can’t be angry at me, then turn around and ask me to touch you in the same breath. I’m only human, Gregory. And I’m by no means noble enough to stop at touching. It’s been too long, and if I start, I won’t stop. Just you coming in the room has me at a high eight. And I haven’t had anything above a one since I walked out of your flat two months ago.”

“Yeah?” I can’t resist a look at his crotch, but the throw is in my way. I am flattered, though. “You’re not alone…  I’d be at a ten if it weren’t for these damned muscle relaxers. And I know it’s not fair, but I can’t be here in your house with a few walls between us and not be able to be with you. It’s driving me crazy.” I pat the bed. “It’s okay, Mycroft. We’ll work it out. I promise.”

The folders are set on the nightstand with a firm thwack. “Fine. If you get in this bed with me, I cannot make any promises as to what may or may not happen, since you know exactly what things are open at three in the morning…” He gets back in the bed, and pulls the blankets up to his waist. “Say you understand what I’m saying, Gregory.”

Legs and hospitals. “I understand.” I try what I hope is a reassuring smile, and settle down next to him with a contented sigh. I’ve missed this, missed him… it’s all I can do not to roll over and snog him senseless. I clear my throat. “So, while we’re lying here trying to ignore that we’ve basically thrown a match on dry grass, you can tell me the story.”

He lets out a breath and settles back against the headboard. “What story?”

“The one about the bloke who broke your heart at Uni.”

“He didn’t break my heart. Sherlock exaggerates.” He takes one of the pillows and puts it on his lap. “Lie here.”

I settle my head on his lap with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“No touching, nuzzling, or moving of the pillow, or I swear I will strip you naked, and fuck you senseless, stitches be damned.”

“I… ah…”

“Do you understand?” He sounds like he’s about to strip me naked regardless of my answer.

I don’t trust myself to speak, since what he’s proposing sounds delicious to me, so I just nod.

“Good.” He clears his throat. “All right. Ask me what you want to know. That will keep us both occupied.”

I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “What was his name?”

“Colin. He was from Aberdeen. Had the most lyrical accent. Played rugby.”

“Good looking?”

“Oh, yes. Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed. Lithe, built like a tank, but moved like a dancer. Rough and ready, just this side of bad. Love at first sight. For me, at least.”

“You… ah, always fancied bad chaps that move like dancers?’’

“Before I saw him, I had not fancied anyone before. Though now I prefer chaps who carry warrant cards and have eyes like cocoa nibs.”

I blush, and squeeze his hand. “Go on with you. How did you meet him?”

“I was his tutor.”

I chuckle at that. “You really are right out of an old-time romance novel, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am aware it is a cliché, but…” He shrugs. “I tutored as a way to keep myself occupied, and to make money for the things my father thought trivial.”

“Like…?”

“Chocolates, the cinema, sheets that did not scratch, improved lodgings, top of the line technology.”

“My fancy man.”

“Yes, well… At any rate, I’d already decided that my career path should include diplomacy, so interacting with the unwashed masses was an unpleasant necessity. I did not want to join a club, or anything so tedious, so I decided to put my capacity for figures to use. Through cunning, and a bit of manipulation, I became one of the most sought after tutors. There were other students, but none like Colin. He was gorgeous, and had a smile that could melt the hardest heart. Unfortunately, the only thing his head housed was air.”

“Really? And you weren’t bothered by that?”

“I am, of course, more discriminating in my tastes now. But back then, no, it didn’t matter at all because he had other, more sterling qualities.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he did. ‘Built like a tank’ is just another way of saying ‘hung like a horse’.”

“If you’re going to be crude…”

“Sorry.”

“Really, Detective Inspector. I had no idea what I was feeling, but I couldn’t deny that I felt all… aflutter, for lack of a better word, every time he looked at me. It never occurred to me to check out his…package. Well, not at first.”

“All right, sorry. No skipping around, now. Get back to when you and Colin the Magnificent first met.”

“Jealousy is unbecoming and unnecessary. Will it soothe your massive ego if I tell you I hadn’t thought of him in years? And that as far as chaps I fancy, you far exceed anything I could have hoped for then and now?”

“He was your first, though. That’s a special distinction.”

“For what it was worth.”

“Bad?”

“Will you let me tell the story, or shall you guess the rest?”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“As I was saying, the first time I saw him, I felt something – lust, love, arousal… I had no idea what it was, but I wanted to spend my every waking moment gazing into his eyes and listening to him talk.  It wasn’t long before I developed… feelings.” He does that shuddery grimace that he usually reserves for something action related. “He was all I could think about. It became my goal to claim the title as his boyfriend. An ambitious undertaking, given that I was physically and socially awkward, tall, and an overall mess.”

“Oh, I need to see pictures for evidence,” I say, rubbing my thumb around his hand.

“Ginger hair that no brush could tame. Freckles. A low lighted lamp would give me sunburn. Two scones away from being pudgy. Bookish, and incredibly awkward because I was two and a half years younger than everyone there. On top of all that, I had not yet honed my manners, and was a certified Holmes. You will never see those photos.”

“I’ll let you see mine. Before the braces.”

“I’ve seen them. You were a very, very pretty young man. All that beautiful hair, and those eyes… I would have given my right arm to be that gorgeous.”

“You didn’t see me in my Elvis Presley phase.” I do my own shudder at that memory. “I was obsessed.”

He blinks a few times, then shakes his head. “Oh, dear lord… Elvis, Gregory?”

“Yep. There may or may not have been a sequined cape, but I’ll never tell.”

“I love a challenge.”

“Thank you very much,” I say in what I think is a pretty decent Elvis voice.

“Horrid. You sound more like Nigel Bruce. With a cold.”

“I’ve got the hip swivel down,” I say. “But you’re not gonna see it.”

“I’ve seen it,” he says, tightening his hand on mine. “Many times. And I appreciate the nuances of it.”

I groan. “Not helping. Tell me more about Colin. Did he return your feelings?”

“Well, the problem with having a so-called crush on someone is that every little thing that person does is taken as a sign that they return your affections.”

“Did he take advantage?”

“Not as such. He seemed aware of my feelings, but then there were so many others that shared the sentiment, whatever I was feeling was lumped in with the rest. Male, female, professors… he was quite popular, and went on lots of dates. However, it seemed to me that I was his preferred company. He’d stride into wherever I was, and say, ‘Come along, Mikey’, and I’d trot after him like a puppy.”

I frown at that. “’Mikey’? You hate nicknames.”

“Yes, but I was in love, Gregory. He could have called me anything in that accent. I didn’t care.”

“I know the feeling. Your voice makes me feel the same way.”

“Does it?”

“Fishing for compliments while I’m lying here in your bed, Mycroft?”

“In light of recent events, yes.”

He sounds so cautious and hesitant, I can’t help but plant a kiss on knuckles. “Riding the good times is easy.”

“Yes, well…”

“Go on with your story.”

“We studied…well, I talked, he repeated, because that was the only way he could grasp simple concepts like verbs and addition. In retrospect, I have no idea how he managed to finish primary school.”

“He was that good at rugby?”

“He had bursaries, society awards, and private funding, so I assume so. The coaches and professors showed a considerable amount of deference to him, and by extension, me. I was allowed to travel with the team here and there, as long as I made sure he kept up with his classes. Mine weren’t even important.”

“I’m sure you did well, regardless.”

“Of course.” He sounds amused. “It was quite fun, trying to balance his studies and mine. I loved the pressure.” His hand tightens on mine, then relaxes. “I took him home over the spring recess. Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Sherlock.”

“And my parents. Satan’s triumvirate. My father’s stony silence, disapproving of any and every little thing, Sherlock being an absolute prat, and Mummy being upset about Sherlock and I fighting…it was a nightmare. Colin took it all in stride, mostly because he didn’t understand half of what was going on.”

“Was he really that stupid? I mean, you have to take into account that your family isn’t the norm when it comes to smarts, but I’m a bit surprised that you weren’t more, ah… discriminating.” It’s hard to think that Mycroft could be attracted to such a dullard. “I mean, really…”

“Gregory…” He sighs. “I was seventeen, and walked around in a constant state of arousal. He could have been Einstein or Mr. Bean… it didn’t matter. I just wanted someone to touch me.”

“Yeah, okay. I remember Debbie Lowbrach… she was almost fifteen, and still had her baby teeth. Double d’s, though…”

He rolls his eyes, and continues. “One evening, we were in my room, talking about verbs, and he leaned in and kissed me. He said he’d been thinking about doing it because my lips looked soft. Well, being in love and besotted, that one kiss started a fire in me. Days went by, and we fell into a routine. Kissing, studying, talking… he even taught me to play a bit of rugby.”

“What? You, playing a game that involves close contact and running?”

He nods. “I am aware that it is contrary to my nature now, but back then, I’d have done anything to be close to him, to touch him.” He sighs, and it sounds just a bit wistful. “He even tried to get along with Sherlock. How could I not love him?”

“How’d that go over? I can’t imagine it went well.”

“Just about how you’d imagine. Sherlock was ten, but he was already very observant, and he was skilled at acerbic wit. He took great pleasure in following us around, teasing and just being generally obnoxious.”

“Still the same then.”

“Quite,” Mycroft agrees. “Two days before the end of the break, Colin and I went walking, and ended up in the carriage house. He said he missed home, and his sheep, and such, and one thing led to another, and there we were, kissing again. This time was different, more intense. He was very passionate, touching me, saying all the things that a young, untried young man in love wants to hear. He asked I wanted to… learn how to give oral pleasure. I wasn’t sure if I did or not, but he seemed to want it, so I said yes.”

“He didn’t…” I trail off, uncertain how to proceed.

“No, no… it was all very much consensual. He showed me what to do, and then returned the favour. In retrospect, he was quite bad at it, but at the time, I didn’t care. It was heaven to have him do it. It was over rather quickly, but it did solidify my love for him. He told me that he loved me right after, and it was music to my ears.”

“I’ll bet.” I can’t hide the cynicism I feel. “That punter took advantage.”

“Most likely, but I didn’t know it then. After we recovered, he asked if he could fuck me. Just like that. He’d always wanted to see what it was like, he said, and he didn’t just want to do it with anyone… he wanted someone he loved. In what seemed like mere seconds, I was naked, he was touching me all over, and I was begging him to do something, anything. I knew nothing about how it was supposed to go, what to do, or anything, but I figured he did. I was wrong. I wasn’t actually… ready, but I didn’t want to disappoint him, or give up the chance, so I grit my teeth and thought of England. There was no preparation, nothing. Just a shove and a moving of hips, and then it was over. It was… unpleasant, to say the least, but it wasn’t long enough for any, ah, damage to be done.”

“Physical damage, no.” I breathe in and out for a few seconds, and then the memory hits me. Fat Tuesday. “Oh… ten seconds. You did tell me that.”

“Yes.” His tone is clipped, and he sounds hurt all over again.

“Were you… did… did he say anything after?”

“He said lots of things, as he was good at smooth talk. Most of them involved apologizing for not being really all that queer, wanting to give me what I’d been begging for, feeling sorry for me, his mates teasing him about me, and other things that I’d rather not discuss right now, but were no less humiliating. He then went on a date with our neighbor’s daughter.”

I frown at that. “Wait. He fucked you – quite badly, I might add, then… that’s… god.”

“Well said,” he says dryly. “At any rate, when I returned to the house, well... you can imagine what living with a house full of Holmeses means. It was apparent to everyone what had taken place. My father was very angry, but silent, and Mummy just kept shaking her head, bemoaning the fact that she would never be a grandmother. And Sherlock… God, he was going through a historical romance phase. He went around saying that I was ruined, and demanding that Colin marry me to save my honour. Quite tedious, and needless to say, annoying.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he sighs, “I don’t believe you can. It was worse when Colin was around. In retrospect, it was amusing, because poor Colin had no idea about half of what Sherlock was on about.”

“Doesn’t make ‘poor Colin’ any less an arse.  What happened when you got back to school?”

“Not much at first. Then there were odd looks, snide comments, and snickering. But I took it in stride… mostly.”

“Until?” I prompt.

He smiles at me. “The Yard’s finest, indeed. Until I found out that there was a list, a bet, and that people were laughing at me for falling prey to the most notorious cocksman in Aberdeen.”

“Oh, Mycroft…” I feel an ache for him, for that trusting young man in love. “I’m so sorry.”

“Needless to say,” he continues, ignoring my sentimental outburst, “I was humiliated, hurt, and… to be honest, confused. When I confronted him about it, he laughed it off and told me that he did like me, and wished I’d given in sooner, since I’d lost him 40 quid.”

“What an utter twat! What did you do?”

“Well… there wasn’t much I could do. I was heartbroken, of course, but I cursed myself for being so naïve. My father had often told me that it wasn’t to a man’s advantage to have feelings for anyone, which is, when put into perspective, awful advice to get from one’s parent. Who is married to one’s other parent. He also told me that love was utter rot, and that I should put my heart into my work, and leave emotions to the dull.”

“Well, that explains the lack of children’s books in your house.”

“Among other things.” He sighs. “And so I took his advice to heart, and shut down completely. Mummy tried to talk to me about it, and tried to reassure me that the next time it would be better, but there was nothing anyone could do to make me feel anything. And there you have it.”

“But…”

He untangles our hands, and puts a finger on my lips. “Let’s not, hm? I’ve told you as much of the story as I can.”

Can, not will. Shit. “What happened to him?” I sit up too fast, and groan.

“Do you need something?”

I wave him off, and move to kneel up beside him. “No, tell me, Mycroft. What did you do?”

“Not a thing.” He looks straight at me, and blinks once, very slowly. “He went on to become a fine international rugby star.”

The single slow blink is a sure sign of obfuscation, as he calls it. “You’re lying.”

“It is not a lie to keep the truth to oneself.”

“I watched Star Trek, too, Mr. Spock, so don’t quote it at me. What happened to him? Did you stop tutoring him?”

“Oh, no,” he laughs. “Part of the problem with men like Colin is that they are so accustomed to being catered to, to having whomever they want, to having people at their beck and call that they never think that their followers will turn on them. He didn’t think I was capable of anything other than fawning and worshipping him. Even though I knew I’d been foolish in letting my emotions get the best of me, I wasn’t as heart-broken as he assumed, but I maintained the illusion, and I continued to tutor him. In fact, I upped the ante, and doubled the already lush financial compensation for my time, which turned out to be quite a boon for me.”

“How did Colin take the ‘new’ you?”

“It can be quite devastating to lose one’s… fool, so to speak. He tried to coax me back to bed. When that didn’t work, he wanted to be my ‘best mate’, as he put it. I resisted easily, since I was not the ‘fool me more than once’ type. He was nothing more to me than a means to an end. When exams came, I made sure he was well prepared. Unfortunately, he failed all his exams, and lost his funding.”

“What? How?”

He blinks again. “There may or may not have been some incorrect information given as to how long division worked. And how verbs and nouns worked. And some history may have been wrong… or maybe the Boston Tea Party was an actual party that took place on a yacht in a harbor, complete with sexy lasses in bikinis.” He shrugs. “Seems to me that he should have learned that in primary school.”

I laugh loudly and kiss him on the forehead. “Well done, you.”

“Well, there is a part of me that is ashamed that I caused him to lose his funding for school. And that he was forced to go back to Aberdeen. He played rugby for a local team for a few years, but it wasn’t the same as the international fame he’d been promised. I went there, a few years after I’d started working for the government. He was very solicitous and seemed happy to see me. He was married by then, and had children, and was genuinely sorry for the way things turned out between us. In the face of his sweet wife, who had heard so many lovely things about me over the years, and his passel of children, it was impossible to remain angry and vengeful. So, in a fit of sentimentality, I anonymously put some money in a trust account for him so that he wasn’t completely destitute.”

“That was rather kind of you.”

“Yes.”

“So, because of some silly prick who thought he was a god, you shut yourself down and couldn’t care for anyone?”

“Perhaps wouldn’t is a better word,” he says, not looking at me. “I hated the way it made me feel – out of control and emotional. Obsessing over minutiae that I would have never even considered under normal circumstances. Putting excessive product in my hair, and letting him call me ‘Mikey’. Following him around like a puppy. Dear god, why would anyone want that?”

“Are we still talking about Colin?”

He looks at me then, his eyes narrowed. “Really, Detective Inspector, you’re lying here in my bed, and I am fighting the urge to do wicked, wicked things to your body. I changed my mind for you. How could I possibly be referring to you?”

“I’m just asking. You still put product in your hair, and you let me give you a nickname. I do cherish that you changed your mind, though.”

“You are not anything like him, Gregory. You are an honourable man, and I do believe that your intentions toward me are by no means malicious.”

“He was your first love, though.”

“In the truest sense of the concept, I would say not. The first time I…well, after him, there wasn’t anyone with whom I could imagine sharing that pleasure. And no, I was never a honey trap when I worked with the CIA or MI6, so get that out of your mind.”

“Well, you can’t blame me,” I laugh. “Women love you, with your long legs and smooth manners. Walking into the room, all kitted out in a fine tuxedo, cigarette in hand, making the women swoon, and the men-“

“As I was saying, I hadn’t…” He stops and shakes his head. “You know, I am in regular touch with Her Majesty, and speak to her without ever hesitating or mincing words. How is it that you make me blush and stutter like a teenager?”

“I hope you’re not talking to Her Majesty about your first time…?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Well, maybe it’s because you’ve never had to talk about it. As an adult, I mean.”  I nudge his shoulder. “So…you and I on Valentine’s Day… that was your first time being on top?”

He ducks his head, and I know that he is uncomfortable with what he is about to say. “Yes. And you were very helpful and accommodating, Gregory. I will never forget it.”

“I couldn’t tell. You had me three times before first light. I should have known something was fishy.” I shiver at the memory of his unbridled passion that first time he and I were together. ‘Duckling to water, and all that.”

“You made me feel out of control and rather wanton. And I could hardly confess that I’d never done it before,” he says. “I couldn’t be more than sixty percent sure of your response.”

“Not so much an iceman, then.”

“I know that I can be. After Colin, I vowed I would never let anyone get that close again.” He looks at me then. “For all the good it did. Now, here I am in love and vulnerable, allowing my heart to lead my head. Handing someone your heart is far more dangerous than handing them a loaded gun.”

“Only a Holmes could look at love like that.”

“Love is a battlefield.” He smiles briefly. “Not a new, nor a uniquely Holmesian concept, Gregory.”

“Wait a minute.” I frown at him. “How it is you know that song, but don’t know Green Eggs and Ham?”

“I had an assistant who was obsessed with female rockers. Much to my dismay, it became her anthem during a particularly bad breakup. Thankfully, she didn’t last long.”

“Well, Pat Benatar is entitled to her opinion, but we’re not like that. And I loved you first, not even knowing if you were capable of returning my feelings. You took a chance, and ended up getting hurt again. I’m sorry I hurt you, Mycroft.”

“I hurt you more. I am not amoral. I am just…practical, for lack of better word. There are things that have to be done, and I cannot do them if I let my conscience make the decision for me. If there is a choice between national security and breaking a commandment, keeping the nation safe will always take precedence over whether or not it is wrong. I have never had to stop and consider my actions before. I will try to be more cognizant of things, but I can’t promise it will happen overnight, or at all. But I’ll try.” He reaches out suddenly, and pulls me close. “I will be mindful of your stitches, Gregory, but I have to kiss you. It’s been such a long time. Please let me… “

“Yes,” I breathe. God knows I’ve wanted it, too. “Please.”

His lips cover mine, and he gives me the most sensual, loving kiss I’ve ever had. It’s slow and easy, it’s soft and simple, god… so hot. I wrench my lips free, and bury my face in his neck. “Mycroft…”

“Hm?” His hands are in my hair, raking and tugging slightly, just as he knows I like.

“I want you. Right now.”

“I know,” he says, sliding his hands down my back. “But not now. You need to be at least ninety percent well, and right now, you’re about forty.” His hands come round to my sides and I bite back a groan as he grazes over the area where I was knifed. “Ribs still sore, and stitches pulling a bit. And I’d prefer that you not be high on muscle relaxants.”

“Spoilsport.” I groan and ease away from him to lie down on my non-stitched side.

Mycroft leans over and picks up the file he’d been reading when I came in. “If you behave, you can stay.”

I watch him slide his glasses on, and groan.

“What?” he asks, his tone sharp. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no…” I look at him again, and smile. “I think I have a glasses fetish. When did you start wearing glasses?”

“Of course you have a fetish. I went to the optometrist a while ago. Mostly, I wear contacts, but tonight, my eyes needed a break. No one will ever see me in them outside this house, and those who tell will be severely punished.” He pets my arms, and opens the folder. “We’ll deal with that when you’re better.”

“You’d better.” I lie there for a few moments, then something occurs to me. “Cocoa nibs?”

“Hm?” He looks at me over the tops of his glasses and I fight back a shiver. “Oh… yes. Definitely cocoa nibs. Now, if you don’t mind…?”

“I do, but I’m in no condition to fight you on it.”

“Good. Go to sleep, Gregory.”

“Not sleepy. I’m basking…” I smile and hum a bit of the song that’s been stuck in my head all day. “I love you, Mycroft.”

With a groan, he sets the papers aside, removes his glasses, and scoots down to lie next to me. “You can’t tease me like this.” He leans in, and brushes his lips with mine. “I am trying not to touch you, but you’re making it hard.”

“Yeah? Let’s see…." I slide my hand into the opening of his pyjamas and feel the steel of his cock as it practically leaps into my hand. “Very hard, indeed.”

His hips move upward with a snap, while his hand grips my forearm like a vise. “Cease and desist, Gregory.”

“I can’t. Let me, Mycroft…” I let my hand slide up, then down, and groan as his eyes go stormy grey with lust. “You want me to, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes… please.”

“I love it when you’re like this, out of your mind, wanting me.” I pick up the pace, not wanting to tease him too much. “How does it feel? Tell me if I’m doing a good job…”

“Feels so good… ah!” He cries out as I start a twisting motion up and down the length of his cock. “I’m not… it’s been too long.”

“Come on, then,” I say with one last tug. “Let me have it.”

“Gregory!” His back arches off the bed as he comes all over my hand.

I release him gingerly, not wanting to touch while he’s overly sensitive, though if I were well, I’d be all over him. “Bet that felt good, didn’t it?” And I sound smug, even to my own ears.

“Crowing is unbecoming, given the circumstances,” he pants. “You took advantage of me.”

“Yes, I did.” I smile, and hand him a flannel from the night table. “And we both enjoyed it. I couldn’t get it up with a crane right now, but to be able to make you feel good is its own reward.”

“So noble,” he mutters, tossing the flannel over the side of the bed. “I’ll never get any work done now.” He settles down on the bed again, and tugs me to lie in the curve of his body. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me, too.” I yawn. “Next time, leave the glasses on. Very sexy.”

“Hm.” He yawns, too. “Maybe I can extract a quid pro quo. I did like younger Elvis…”

“Thank you very much.”

“Better. Now it’s like Stephen Fry with a cold. Keep at it.” He kisses the nape of my neck. “Te amo, Gregorio.”

His dreamy, slightly amazed tone makes me smile. “I know.”

***


End file.
